


Broken Bird

by Crazyhotsoup



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Behavior, Abusive Relationships, Dissociation, Intrusive Thoughts, Mood Swings, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic, Vent Piece, Violent Thoughts, the author is projecting, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyhotsoup/pseuds/Crazyhotsoup
Summary: "The picture was of a crudely drawn bird.It's neck was turned at an unnatural angle."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Broken Bird

**Author's Note:**

> **TW:** Intrusive thoughts, beginnings of dissociation
> 
> tbh y'all, I relate a little too much with Dutch
> 
> but yeah this is all vent shit

Understanding what was wrong with him had never been the easiest task. 

Sometimes it was the way he holstered his gun. 

Or a stain on his shirt. 

Or a _feeling_ that he could not describe. 

But Dutch knew one thing about himself: He was not an easy person to be around. 

Be it his temper, his tendency to preen a little too much or the sudden changes in his spirit, Dutch was a taxing man. 

He had found something with Annabel. Beautiful Annabel, with her honey-colored hair and big brown eyes.

Elizabeth had been that for a week, until he had screamed at her to get out and threw a tin cup as she ran from his tent. 

Dutch had one irrevocable rule with women: Never raise a hand to them. 

He could yell, he could fume, he could banish them from the camp, but he would never lay a hand on them in _that_ way. 

But god damn Molly, that Irish harpy, had found a new nerve to get on every day since he had tired of her. 

Dutch would never raise a hand to a woman, but Molly? 

He might just break his own rule. 

She was useless. 

He might've whored her out, if she wasn't such a bitchy lay. 

He might've put her to work, if her _delicate hands could handle that kind of stress_. 

He was fucking tired of her. 

But he couldn't throw her out. He had considered it, but he was too prideful. 

So, he was stuck with her. 

He was stuck with her until she fucked up so royally he could strangle her himself. 

Dutch stilled in his mindless sketching and frowned. 

_He hadn't wanted to harm someone needlessly in, what? Ten years? Not since Annabel helped him reel in the thoughts that were his own and ignore the ones that belonged to someone else._

The picture was of a crudely drawn bird.

It's neck was turned at an unnatural angle. 

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. 

The familiar feeling of _wrongness_ bloomed in his mind. He knew that something was going to begin. He could recognize the signs. He could feel the numbness creeping up him. First his legs, then his torso, then his chest and, lastly, his head. 

A cool, numb sensation spread through him. 

His heart felt _hollow_ somehow. 

Dutch glanced down at the sketch again and couldn't place where the nausea came from. 

Had it been the sketch?

The thoughts?

Was it just one of _those_ nights?

He glanced around the sparsely lit camp. 

_Where was Hosea?_

He glanced towards the hitching posts. 

Silver Dollar was gone. 

They had left. Arthur and Hosea left to go do _what?_

He didn't know what. 

_Where was Annabel?_

He squeezed his eyes shut as the image of her mangled body flashed behind his eyes. 

Breathing. Hosea had always wanted him to breathe in a certain way. 

But what the fuck was it? 

_Slowly in. Hold it. Slowly out._

Dutch did his best approximation, staving off the encroaching numbness and underlying solemness. 

As warmth started to seep back into his bones, he looked down at the sketch again.

 _He wanted to hurt_. 

But it wasn't him. It was something else. The thoughts weren't his. The feelings didn't belong to him. 

He tore the page out. 

His eyes drifted over the paper again as he approached the main fire. 

It choppily floated down into the flames. 

Within an instant the image of the broken bird was aflame and the darkness around him was less.


End file.
